


Ashes, Ashes

by quantumvelvet



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-23
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-27 19:05:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5060449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumvelvet/pseuds/quantumvelvet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dread Wolf's schemes succeed, and the world flies apart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ashes, Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Andraste](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Andraste/gifts).



**Valta**

At first, Valta doesn’t notice the swell of the song. Familiarity is built in geological eras, cataloging shifts in the Titan’s blood and bone that may come to pass only once in ten ages. Unlike other minute ripples in the song, this one doesn’t fade. It builds, until the hair on the back of the shaper’s neck stands on end, and even then she isn’t certain. Not until something snaps, faint as breaking crystal in a distant room, and the song fills everything.

She cries out, and the world shudders, ground shaking and splitting with the shiver of her skin.

 

**The Inquisitor**

It starts with a tingle in her fingers, like she’d dragged her hand through wake of a lightning strike. Harmless, except there are no fingers. She’d left them long ago, behind a mirror, and tries not to think too hard of the particulars of their leaving.

When she lifts her arm, shadows trace the edges of her lost hand, and the center burns like a star, achingly, horribly familiar. She reaches without thought to _pull_ , to shut the door before everything spills out, and her last coherent thought before she erupts in a pillar of green light is _too late_.

 

**Dorian Pavus**

Minrathous burns. Smoke chokes the air, and where the sullen orange flames have faltered, blue-green echoes have taken their place, whispering remembered doom. The ground churns, and rotting figures swarm from the pits like carrion beetles, reeking of old blood and older hubris.

Out of the corners of his eyes, Dorian spies the polished marble and gleaming statues of the Magisterium’s seat, but when he turns his head, it’s gone again, a gaping pit filled with tangled limbs that writhe desperately, revealing eyeless skulls in pale flashes.

One gasps, jaw moving, and hisses his name. He recognizes his father’s voice.

 

**Lace Harding**

A shadow falls across the sun, red and gleaming like forgotten jewels, and Harding turns towards her companion scout to ask, did you see that? The space where the elven woman had stood lies empty, and for a moment she wonders irritably if her partner had slipped away.

Until she realizes the oddly shaped pile of leaves isn’t leaves at all, and toes the fallen cloak aside to reveal armour, boots, underclothing, all tangled together with the scout’s bow and short sword.

The air hums with the familiar music of the rifts, and from an impossible distance, she hears screaming.


End file.
